


The Ballad of Morgan Ridney

by SnailArmy



Series: Past, present and future [2]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Gen, and i don't know why you would be, creepy fae!, everything you could possibly want if you're reading this story, homebrew races!, how to become a warlock, sailors!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:18:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnailArmy/pseuds/SnailArmy
Summary: A fable of a god, a bar, and a certain cervine sailor





	The Ballad of Morgan Ridney

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Morgan is a homebrew half-elk race. She's like a centuar, but an elk. She has antlers, because antlers are cool. Don't @ me.

It was Morgan Ridney’s third year sailing, which by her math made her approximately five years old. Only a few more years until she was full-grown, and could no longer fit into grimy hole-in-the-wall establishments such as this one. The torches burned low, as if they were ashamed to reveal the dirt caking the once-white walls of the bar. It was emptier than usual for the time of night, not typically a good sign, but it meant the service was fast and the conversations subdued. Besides, if there were many more people Morgan would have struggled to get her increasingly massive hindquarters up to the bar and into any sort of comfortable position. Currently, her front legs were folded up atop a bar stool while her hind remained on the floor, supporting her. She was nursing a mediocre pint of ale and trying to remember her homeland, as she sometimes did on starless nights.

There were several groups of sailors, whores and locals scattered amongst the tables and booths, but only one other sat at the bar itself. He was tall, and handsome, in a dangerous way. He had the look of neither sailor, whore, nor local, instead having an aura reminiscent of a king in the heat of a hunt. Those near him could smell earth and blood and dogs. Just looking at him made your skin tingle and your legs itch, as if he were radiating some feral sort of magic. It was this man who approached Morgan somewhere in her third pint.

“I see you’re not from around here,” he said, voice rough and tainted with an ancient and unfamiliar accent. He leaned into her as a predator leans into the scent of its next meal.

She gave a short, snorting laugh and replied. “Not hardly. I could say the same about yourself.” He smiled a bit, hungrily eying her coarse fur and stubby tail. Normally it’s the other half that gets all the attention, Morgan mused.

“We travelling folk had better stick together, hadn’t we? I can tell you’re a kindred spirit. An eye for adventure, a nose for trouble.” He paused, tapping the polished oak counter delicately with a smooth finger. “What if I asked you to do me a favor? Nothing you’d have to go out of your way for, nothing illegal. I’d pay you handsomely, and supply you with everything you’ll need. Fair warning, though; it could take a long time, and there’s no turning back once you’re in.”

This piqued Morgan’s interest. The wild-eyed gentleman clearly recognized something in her, and the idea of rich rewards for a seemingly simple task was tempting. To be fair, it was most likely a scam or trap of some sort, but what’s the harm in trying? No risk, no reward, and all that.  
She looked him in his eyes. He didn’t seem to be lying.

“I’m in. Now, some details please?”

“Find me a land that I’ve never seen. I will alert you when you have succeeded. If you fail… let’s not worry about that.” He was almost smiling now, with what could have been relief, or excitement, or malice. Morgan realized she had not yet seen his teeth. “This,” he held out his hand, “and all it entails shall be your payment. I assure you, it is well worth your time.”

Into her calloused palms the stranger placed a gem the size of an egg. It was evenly round and perfectly smooth; its colors were like that of no earthly mineral, constantly shifting and nearly alive. A sense of danger and ancient power sent off every warning bell in her brain, but when she turned to question the stranger, he was gone.

\--

The sea-bards and shantymen sing of ships and wars, the things they hope to find and those they’ve left behind. Of all the captains and crews, terrors and treasures, none are more revered than the cloven-hooved mage and the pendant she wears like a noose around her neck. Her story is long, and not a happy one, nor is it altogether tragic. It is merely the story of a lost child, finding her way home again.


End file.
